


Letter from the Wardens

by tinktheloser



Series: Percy Hawke [5]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 17:36:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8542504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinktheloser/pseuds/tinktheloser
Summary: Hawke finally receives news on Carver





	

**Author's Note:**

> When Varric was narrating and said that it had been months before they got word on Carver, my mind started doing bad things and this was born.

Fenris looked up at the estate that now belonged to Percy Hawke. It was tall, spacious, almost intimidating behind the cold, stone walls, though it still managed to be more inviting than the mansion Fenris was currently occupying. And it was quite the upgrade from her uncle’s slum in Lowtown, with the shack’s cramped spaces and grimy floors and stale air that smelled of sweat and must. He would make the occasional visit, more at Leandra’s insistence than anything—she enjoyed mothering—but Hawke seemed to prefer the extra elbow room of Fenris’ mansion.

And now, they were essentially neighbors. Strangely, Fenris enjoyed the notion. He told himself it was because they wouldn’t have to walk to and fro Lowtown anymore. Except, of course, for Wicked Grace nights.

Still, it didn’t quite explain the odd way his chest felt just a little lighter as he approached the Amell Estate—or was it now the Hawke Estate?

Leandra had managed to claim the rights to it while Hawke had been in the Deep Roads, but Hawke had been the one to make the official purchase of the lease. They’d all pitched in on cleaning it up—the slavers that had squatted in it before had been less that tidy—and now the estate seemed to glimmer. Hawke said they were still looking at furnishings, but all the basics were there, and it was almost cozy.

And tonight, they’d be celebrating a simple housewarming.

Save for one person.

When Hawke had returned with only Anders and Varric at her side, and not her scowling younger brother, Fenris had been concerned. Hawke had looked grim, her shoulders tense and her hands twitchy, as though she’d wanted to fidget but was trying to keep herself still. There was a deep weariness about her darkened eyes, and her chapped lips had been bitten raw.

Yet, when she laid eyes on Fenris as she tiredly shuffled through the front gates, she’d plastered a grin on her face and said it was no matter. Carver was a big boy, and he was on his way to be a Grey Warden, like the Hero of Ferelden herself.

If Hawke was trying so hard to convince herself, Fenris wouldn’t stop her. It had been her driving force the past few months after her return. Purchase the estate, because Carver would need somewhere to come home to if he was ever granted a visit. Clean it up, because Carver would pitch a fit if Leandra had to live in another pig sty. Decorate with proper furnishings, because the only thing Carver had ever wanted for his family was Leandra’s happiness.

That last one had been partially a lie, Fenris noted. Carver had also wished for Hawke’s own freedom, as well as a path for himself to tread on his own.

But there hadn’t been a word from the Grey Wardens yet on Carver, and Hawke remained in the dark. The tension in her shoulders hadn’t faded, not since her first day back in Kirkwall. Fenris feared that if she held them any tighter, they would turn brittle and shatter under the slightest increase of stress.

And, knowing Hawke, she’d probably step into a simmering pot of stress without even looking twice.

“Fenris!”

Fenris looked over his shoulder and spotted Hawke ambling up the steps from the direction of Lowtown, with Isabela and Varric at her elbows. Fenris nodded a greeting, ignoring the twitch of his lips at Hawke’s own grin.

“Looks like someone’s excited, for a change,” Isabela commented, leaning on Hawke’s arm as they approached. “Think he’s happy for a new neighbor, Varric?”

“Honestly, with the ones he’s got already, Hawke makes a _colorful_ change,” Varric responded. “I’d be excited too, if that didn’t mean she wasn’t moving further away from the Hanged Man.”

“Oh I _know_ , the nerve of her!” Isabela said, a grin curling her lips. “It’ll be so _dull_ without her just next door. Now who am I going to bother in the middle of the night for some fun?”

Fenris carefully didn’t let his ears twitch at the notion. Isabela would’ve jumped that opportunity.

“I’m sure Gamlen wouldn’t mind,” Hawke said as they shuffled to where Fenris stood. She was making a valiant attempt of keeping a straight face, looking at Fenris as her eyes twinkled with mirth.

“ _Please_ , Hawke, I do have standards you know.”

Fenris nodded seriously. “It’s true,” he said, looking at Hawke. “I once saw her reject a perfectly healthy man with a plump coin purse.”

Hawke raised a brow. “And what could her reason be?”

“His wife had asked her first.”

The façade shattered and Hawke barked a laugh, tipping her head back to crow almost obnoxiously. She patted Isabela on the arm and said, “I’m proud of you, Bela, that was very polite of you not to keep the lady waiting.”

“Well I _did_ tell you,” Isabela said, crossing her arms with a grin. “I have standards, and she was _quite_ the lovely bird.”

“Wait, does it make you a homewrecker if _both_ of them hit on you?” Varric asked, furrowing his brow.

“Not if they invited me for a _special night in_ afterward. The lady’s insistence.”

Hawke laughed again and started for the door of the estate. Fenris followed, noting how relaxed the line of her shoulders was. It was an improvement. Perhaps moving into the estate would be good for her.

“Aveline should be on her way,” Hawke was saying as she opened the door. “She’s probably finishing up her rounds. And Anders knows the way through the cellar, so he’ll wait till the last bloody minute to show up.”

Fenris hummed, not quite hiding his distaste, but Hawke ignored it anyway.

“And Kitten?” Isabela asked.

“Depends. Varric, did you give her that map yet?”

“No, but she’s been using a ball of twine to navigate anyway.”

“Twine?”

“Don’t ask.”

They entered the estate, Hawke rambling about the many uses of twine, and Fenris looked around. It was relatively empty, as Hawke hadn’t yet received the new furnishings. But there were a few desks lining the walls, a recently lit fire in the fireplace, and few bookshelves that were slowly being filled in the study. In the upper level of the study, there was a table for dining and spirits, which was where they would have most of their gathering tonight.

Fenris also recalled assisting in hauling a few beds into the estate. Hawke had told him he didn’t need to help, since she had plenty of money to hire workers to do that, but Fenris had simply shrugged and asked which bed went where. Hawke had laughed and bent down to help him.

Leandra wanted the one with the yellow drapes, so Hawke got the one with red. It was a fitting color for her, Fenris thought.

“Messere!” a voice called. Bodahn, Fenris recalled. The dwarf poked his head from the kitchens. “It’s good to see you back! Your mother will return shortly. She went to fetch more ingredients to finish the roast, I believe, and she took the dog with her.”

“She made a roast?” Hawke responded, blinking. She turned to Fenris, her eyes wide. “Fenris, we’re having a _roast._ ”

He nodded, a grin tugging at his lips. Indeed, he could smell the roast that was simmering in the kitchen. “Welcome to nobility, Hawke.”

“Look forward to having your kitchens raided,” Isabela said, her eyes glittering as she smacked her lips.

“I appreciate the heads up,” Hawke replied, already making her way towards the kitchens. “You all go to the study, I’ll start getting everything ready.”

She disappeared into the kitchen, setting her gear down by the writing desk on her way.

Fenris made to do as she said, but then he caught Isabela eyeing a journal that sat on the table before she meandered over to it. The journal looked like Hawke had simply tossed it there unthinkingly. He rolled his eyes and was about to walk away when Isabela spoke.

“Oh, _Varric_ , she’s made some additions,” she said, bending over and leafing through pages. “Think I’ll have time to catch up on her—ah— _musings_ , before she gets back?”

Isabela sent a _look_ towards Fenris, which made him want to bristle, but he settled for raising a brow. A cackle sounded in her throat.

“I’d say you have a few pages before you’re caught,” Varric replied, sidling up to Isabela. “Though, I’m positive she knows you’ve been reading it anyway. Look, she’s commented on the dick drawing you made in the margin.”

“‘ _Crude, childish, but always appreciated_ ’?” Isabela read. “That’s an invitation to draw _more_ , I hope she realizes.”

“You’re going to draw one on the wall, aren’t you?”

“Better, the _banister_.”

“Elf, come on, you gotta take a look,” Varric said, looking over his shoulder at Fenris. “The shit she writes is _gold_.”

Fenris’ ears twitched, and he looked away with a _hmmph._

“I prefer to stay out of someone’s _personal_ business, thank you,” he said evenly. It wasn’t completely a lie, at least. Though he wouldn’t admit that he was a _little_ curious. But then, illiteracy got in the way of many things, including being a nosy fool.

“At least one of you lot has a sense of decency,” came Aveline’s voice.

Fenris turned his head slightly to acknowledge her as she set down her shield and sword by the door. He’d heard her come in—well before she’d opened the door, in fact— but he’d learned that humans were uncomfortable with the idea that they had poor hearing compared to elves. So he pretended to have just as bad hearing and made sure to only acknowledge someone’s presence if they’ve already decided to make themselves known—unless, of course, it was outside good company. An odd sort of behavior, he thought, but it had gotten him far in a world stacked against his kind.

“Oh please, Big Girl,” Isabela crooned. She put her hands on her hips. “Don’t tell me _you_ haven’t taken a peek.”

“If I have, it would’ve only been to keep an eye on her doings,” Aveline replied smoothly. “Maker only knows what she gets up to when I’m looking the other way.”

“She only leaves you out of it because she doesn’t want you to get in trouble with the Seneschal,” Varric added.

“Yes, how considerate of her.”

“Oh, _balls_ ,” Isabela suddenly spoke. Everyone turned to her, varied expressions of curiosity on their faces. Isabela was still reading the journal. “Now it’s just _sad_ ,” she said.

Varric leaned in closer. “Ah,” he said, his expression darkening. “Just days repeating ‘ _No word from the Wardens yet_ ’. Yikes.”

Aveline sighed softly, and Fenris looked away. This was delving too far into personal territory for his comfort. Hawke might know about her companions snooping in her business, but he doubted she appreciate them being privy to this particular part of it.

The door to the kitchen opened, and Varric subtly flipped the journal a few pages back before Hawke stuck her head out.

“Catching up on my business, are you?” Hawke said. She was carrying a tray of mugs and—were those finger sandwiches?   

“Sweetcheeks, your business is always a delight to read,” Isabela quipped, picking up a mug from the tray. “There’s always an element of _drama_ to it. You could publish a memoir.”

Hawke peered at the page they’d “stopped” at. “That was when we walked in on a cult,” she said, blinking. “They were _naked_.”

“I didn’t say it had to be a _believable_ memoir.”

Hawke snorted and gestured to the study with her tray. “Come on, up you get,” she said. “We’ll run out of ale before we get upstairs if we keep loitering around down here.”

“Mmm but the Blooming Rose is just a short walk away,” Isabela countered as they followed Hawke through the study door. “They’re _always_ stocked.”

“And wasn’t your cellar stocked with expensive wine anyway?” Varric pointed out.

“True,” Hawke said. “But why would I give you lot the _expensive_ wine?”

“Ouch, Hawke.”

“Oh please, Varric, you don’t even like wine. If I were going to give it anyone, it’d be Fenris.”

Fenris blinked at the small flutter in his chest at the sudden shift in attention, but quickly recovered with a smooth retort, “I doubt Kirwall has wines that can match my taste.”

“Is that a challenge?” Hawke looked over her shoulder at him, a grin warming her face. “Or just an excuse to drink all of my wine?”

Fenris’ lips twitched. “I shall let you decide that one.”

“Uh- _huh_.”

They ascended the stairs and Hawke set the tray on the table, scooting out the benches as she did so. It was a crude kind of table—Fenris was certain that Kirkwall nobles used chairs—but it was the only one Hawke could find at the last moment that wasn’t rotted or half-eaten by termites.

They didn’t wait for Anders or Merril—Hawke reasoned that Anders was busy and Merril was Merril and would join when she could. Besides, the main course would be a while coming, as Leandra had yet to return. Still, there was some light outside, and nobody was in a rush to go anywhere, and Isabela had brought a deck of cards.

It was almost relaxing, Fenris thought, even if he had a good view of a Tevinter idol that was mounted on Hawke’s mantel.

She’d mentioned something about taking it down, eventually. Fenris hoped it would be sooner than later.

Fenris had nearly finished his first mug of ale when Bodahn called from downstairs.

“Ah, Messere Hawke!” he said. “Someone just left a letter for you. I’ve put on the desk for your convenience!”

Hawke blinked. “Thank you Bodahn!” Then, she said standing up with a grin, “I’m already getting letters. I guess that makes it even more official, I’m a bloody Hightown noble with an _address_.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Aveline said, lifting a mug to her lips. “I deal with enough snotty nobles already, I can’t imagine what the high class life would do to _you._ ”

Hawke waved at her. “Fear not, Captain, I am the epitome of humility.”

“No, you’re the epitome of _bullshit_.”

Hawke cackled and made for the stairs. “Continue on without me,” she said. “Mother should be home soon and then we can get the _real_ dinner started.”

When Hawke had descended from view, Varric leaned forward, his mug in hand.

“Three silvers says it’s a neighbor trying to passive aggressively _persuade_ her to get her ass back to Lowtown,” he said with a wicked grin.

Fenris snorted. He’d already seen the neighbors’ nervous glances at the estate that was suddenly being refurbished by what they believed to be a low-class Ferelden. It wasn’t unlikely she’d be getting letters from them.

“ _I_ think it’s Athenril trying to keep a finger in a pot that’s suddenly made of gold, not iron,” Isabela countered. “What do you think, Big Girl?’

Aveline rolled her eyes. “Probably a note of congratulations from the Seneschal.” She paused, looking at the ceiling in thought, then added, “With thinly veiled threats in case Hawke doesn’t act the part of a noble.”

“ _That’s_ more like it,” Varric said. “Care to bet, Elf?”

Fenris considered. In the months since he’d come to know Hawke, she’d received requests for favors from just about all over Kirkwall. Somehow, everyone seemed to know that she was willing to do an odd job for extra coin, and even the ones that _didn’t_ know managed to find her anyway. He opened his mouth to respond.

Then—

A heavy weight suddenly descended in the air, and the atmosphere _crackled_ with magic.

Fenris was on his feet in an instant, the lyrium veins lighting like a beacon of alarm.

_Hawke!_

“ _Shit!_ ” Aveline hissed.

“What the—!” Varric exclaimed.

There was movement behind him as everyone scrambled to their feet, but Fenris was already darting down the stairs to the common room. His sword, leaning against the hearth, was out of its sheath the second he passed by, and he gripped it tight as he burst through the door.

The room was empty, except for Hawke.

She was at the writing desk, and a quick scan of the room told him there were no hidden enemies or immediate threats. It wasn’t an attack.

Fenris frowned. Hawke’s magic was still pulsing through the room, but it was different. It was cold and _heavy_ , weighing down on his chest instead of skittering across his skin.

Fenris looked at Hawke again, blinking as he took her in. He lowered his sword.

Hawke was leaning over the writing desk, her head bent down so he couldn’t see her face. Her shoulders were high and tight, trembling, shaking her stiff arms and locked elbows. Her hands were clenched into fists on the table, and her knuckles were a painful white. He could almost see a dark aura weighing down on her, pressing on her neck and shoulders.

Fenris couldn’t see the seal of the letter she was looking at, but he thought it looked like the symbol of the Grey Wardens.

He opened his mouth to speak, but then Hawke moved. She snatched the bottle of ink off the table and—a strangled noise escaping her throat—threw it at the fireplace.

It burst into flames when it shattered on the stone hearth.

Fenris wasn’t sure how to react. This was so very unlike Hawke, like there was a different person standing before him. And yet—

He slowly sheathed his sword.

“Hawke?” he spoke, softly.

Hawke flinched, and jerked her head to look at him. He was startled by her red-rimmed eyes and pale complexion, but mostly by the pain that twisted her features.

“Holy Maker, Hawke, what happened?”

Fenris glanced behind him. Varric had spoken, his crossbow in hand, though he was re-shouldering it. Isabela and Aveline were sheathing their blades, looking around with assessing gazes. They could probably feel some of Hawke’s magic, but not likely as much as Fenris could.

Hawke was floundering, blinking furiously as she struggled to speak. She looked at Fenris, at his tattoos that still glowed, and she swallowed audibly.

“S-sorry,” she croaked. She sucked in a shaky breath, and her magic ebbed to a small tingle, Fenris’ lyrium quieting a faint glow. Then, she turned away, her chin trembling. “I—I have to go.”

Fenris stepped forward. “Hawke—”

But she was already striding away, unsteadily, to the door. He made to follow, but hesitated, and the door slammed shut behind her, leaving an eerie silence to hang heavy in the estate. Everyone looked at each other, with various expression of bafflement and concern.

“Anyone know what just happened?” Aveline asked. “Fenris?”

He glanced at the writing desk. “The letter,” he said, nodding to it.

Varric shuffled to the desk and picked up the crumpled paper that had been sitting next to the journal. He scanned it, and the room was silent, awaiting the news.

Then, Varric inhaled sharply. “Oh, _shit_ ,” he said quietly. His shoulders slumped, uncharacteristic for the dwarf.

Fenris’ stomach dropped. He somehow knew what the letter said, but he didn’t want to know, didn’t want to hear it.

“Well?” Aveline demanded.

Varric lowered the letter. “It’s from the Grey Wardens,” he said, far too somber. “Carver was on his way to the Joining—some sort of ritual for induction.”

Then, Varric sighed, long and heavy.

“He didn’t make it."

* * *

 

It was dark as Fenris walked along the coast, scanning the hills for the path that would lead to a specific cove. The moon shone a hunter’s glow, lighting his way, and casting a gentle glimmer on the whispering water. The dirt path he walked had been packed solid, and it was cool under his bare feet.

He carried Hawke’s staff on his back, along with his greatsword. She’d left it behind in her hasty escape, and he felt it was wrong not to bring it back to her side.

Aveline had told him he shouldn’t go alone, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He wasn’t sure how the guard captain would be able to handle the force of Hawke’s magic. She wasn’t magic-sensitive like he was, but he had the feeling there would be… more of it, tonight.

Varric and Isabela seemed to understand, though. He wasn’t sure how much they knew, but it was likely just enough to stay sufficiently updated.

Besides, it wasn’t like they, especially Varric, wouldn’t notice how he and Hawke would occasionally disappear for a day or two.

Fenris wondered if Hawke would ever care to explain that.

He cast those thoughts aside when his skin tingled and his tattoos glimmered faintly. He looked up the coast, recognizing the path he and Hawke would take. She was just around the corner, and seemed to be doing her best to contain what was probably a flood.

Her magic still felt cold, he noted. It was usually warm, not quite soothing but always gentle, almost giddy. But tonight, the mirth in her magic was missing, and he wondered if it would return soon, if ever.

Fenris found her curled up against the stone cliffs that surrounded the cove. She had her head buried in her knees, her arms tightly wrapped around her legs. Even in the dim light, he could see the tremors in her body as she was wracked with silent sobs.

“Hawke,” he spoke, softly.

She lifted her head, and Fenris’ chest tightened. The wet streaks on her cheeks glittered in the moonlight, but her eyes were dark and swollen, her lips pursed tightly but unable to stop the tremors in her chin wrinkled with pain.

“He’s gone,” she said, her voice a garbled whisper. “He was—he was almost there, but the Blight—”

Hawke bowed her head again as she choked on a sob, an unsteady wave of cold weighing down the air in the cove.

Fenris was helpless. He had no memory of grief, or even of having someone to grieve, but Hawke had started out with a big family that had been slowly whittled away.

He didn’t know what it was like to lose that, nor did he particularly want to. But he approached, and he laid her staff in front of her, like she did so often when she released her magic.

Before he straightened, Hawke spoke again.

“I thought—,” Hawke tried, swallowed, tried again. “I thought I could protect him. He’s—he was—my baby brother—”

She cursed, and hit the back of her head to the stone behind her. “Stupid,” she hissed. Then, she looked up at Fenris. “I’m—I’m sorry I couldn’t—at the estate—”

Fenris shook his head, silencing her.

“Let go,” he murmured. He straightened himself, not looking away from Hawke as he did. “I’ll stand guard.”

Hawke stared at him, mouth ajar, brow twisted in pain. Then, she nodded and closed her eyes, taking a shuddering breath.

Fenris found a perch to sit on, where he could watch both Hawke and their surroundings. If anyone approached, he would know, whether by sight or sound. He crossed his legs, his greatsword sitting before him.

Then, Hawke let go of her magic, and she and Fenris both felt her ride the waves of her cold grief well into the night. Fenris remained silent, carefully noting any changes in Hawke’s body or magic while dimming the beaconing light of his lyrium.

She was, unsurprisingly, a quiet griever. She gasped and she wept, but she didn’t wail, even as the cold in her magic sharpened and Fenris had to stifle a hiss against the stinging goosebumps on his skin.

And yet, her cries still rang in his ears as they echoed in the cove and in his dreams, long after they’d quietly, mournfully, returned to Kirkwall.

**Author's Note:**

> plz don't hate me, i already hate myself enough for letting carver die away from his family ahahahah why am i like this. i may possibly add a short chapter after this. maybe.
> 
> kudo for feelings?


End file.
